The Tawny Gold Man

Chapter 1

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

The solemnly intoned benediction seemed to hang like a pall on the chill March air long seconds after the pastor closed his prayer book. A muffled sob shattered the silence, and, as if the cry had been a signal, the large crowd around the grave site began to move in a slow, unsure manner.

Some distance off to one side, in a small, sparse stand of trees, a tall man stood, unobserved by the group of mourners. Hands thrust inside the deep pockets of a hip-length sheepskin jacket, broad shoulders hunched, wide collar flipped up against the cold, damp air, all that was visible of his head and face was a shock of sun-gold hair and a pair of amber eyes, narrowed and partially concealed by long, thick, dark brown lashes. At the moment, the eyes were riveted on the flower-draped brass casket suspended over the open grave.

The figure remained still as a statue, but the eyes, cold and unemotional, shifted to the source of the low sobs. A small fair-haired woman, dressed entirely in black, stood unsteadily, supported on both sides by two tall, slender, fair-haired young men who wore the same face. The cold eyes flashed for an instant with cynicism, gone as fast as it came, then moved on to rest on the face of a younger woman, also dressed in black, standing close to one of the young men. There was an oddly protective attitude in her stance, although she was much smaller than the man. The amber eyes grew stormy as they studied the small, pale, wistfully lovely face, the soft, pure lines set in fierce determination. The lids dropped, and the eyes again became clear and cold and moved on to briefly scan the crowd before once again coming to rest on the coffin, gleaming dully in the gray, overcast morning light.

"I loved you, you old bastard."

The softly muttered words bounced off the warm fleece of the collar; then the man turned sharply and strode through the trees to the road some yards away and a sleek black BMW parked to the side.

* * * *

Anne rested her head against the plush upholstery of the limousine, eyes closed. She was tired and the day wasn't half over. There would be a lot of people coming back to the house and she'd have to act as hostess, as her mother obviously wasn't up to it. The soft weeping coming from the seat in front of her gave evidence of that. Not for the first time Anne wished she'd known her father, for she surely must have inherited his character. For although except for hair color she resembled her small, fragile mother, beyond the surface features there was very little comparison. Her mother was gentle natured but had always been high-strung and of delicate health, whereas Anne had enormous stamina and strength for such a small woman. About the only thing she and her mother shared by way of emotions was the gentle nature. Anne was a pushover for any hard-luck or sob story and had been taken in by and involved with so many of her friends' problems she had finally had to harden her heart in self-defense.

Taking advantage of the drive back to the house to relax, Anne's mind was going over what still had to be gotten through that day when a disturbing thought pushed its way forward: He didn't even come to his father's funeral. Her head moved restlessly; her soft lips tightened bitterly. For days now, ever since her stepfather's death, she had managed to push away all thoughts of her stepbrother, but even so she had felt sure he would be at the funeral. Of course it had been ten years, but still, he had been notified and the least he could do ... She felt the car turn into the driveway and, opening her eyes, sat up straight, pushing the disquieting thoughts away.

During the next two hours Anne was kept too busy to do any deep thinking, but still her eyes went to the door each time the housekeeper opened it to admit yet another friend offering condolences.

When finally the door was closed after the last well-wisher, Anne sighed deeply before squaring her shoulders and walking to the door of the library. With her hand on the knob she paused, her gaze moving slowly around the large, old-fashioned foyer. The woodwork was dark, gleaming in the light of the chandelier that hung from the middle of the ceiling. The furnishings could only be described as heavy and ornate. Anne didn't really care too much for the house, yet it had been the only home she'd ever known, as Judson Cammeron, Sr., had been the only father she'd ever known. Sighing again, she turned the knob and entered the room.

Mr. Slonne, the family attorney, sat dwarfed behind her stepfather's massive oak desk, hands folded on the blotter in front of him. He was speaking quietly to her mother, who was sitting in a chair alongside the desk. As Anne gently closed the door he glanced up and asked, "Everyone gone?"

Smiling faintly, Anne nodded and moved to the chair placed at the other side of the desk. As she sat down, her eyes scanned her mother's face.

"How are you feeling now, Mother?"

Margaret Cammeron smiled wanly at her daughter, her eyes misty. "Better, dear." Her tremulous voice had a lost, childlike note. "I don't know how I'd have managed to get through this without you and your brothers." Her breath caught and her hand reached out for, and was grasped by, that of her son who leaped from his chair and came to stand beside hers.

"Well, you don't have to get through anything without us, ever." Anne spoke bracingly, her eyes going to first one, then another, set of matching blue eyes, in the faces of her identical-twin half brothers.

Like a small mother hen, Anne was proud of her younger brothers. Usually carefree and unhampered by responsibility, due to too little discipline and too much indulgence, their conduct the last few days had been faultless. At twenty-one and in their last year of college, Troy and Todd Cammeron had never done a full day's serious work. They had inherited their mother's sweet nature and their father's quick temper, but little of his iron will and tenacity. They were good-looking and well-liked and too busy having a good time to worry about the future. Their father was rich and they had known they would go to work in his business when they left school. Meanwhile they had been busy with girls and cars and girls and fun and girls. Their father's sudden death had shocked them, as it had everyone, but they had rallied well in support of their mother. Although only four years their senior, Anne also admitted she had had as much of a hand, if not more, in their spoiling as anyone.

Mr. Slonne glanced at his watch then cleared his throat discreetly. "I think we had better begin, Mrs. Cammeron.

“The time stated was two o'clock and as it is now two-fifteen I—”

He stopped, startled as the library door was thrust open and Anne felt the breath catch in her throat as her stepbrother walked briskly into the room. He paused, his eyes making a circuit of the occupants, then focused on her mother.

"Sorry I'm late, Margaret, I stopped for something to eat and the service was lousy."

Anne shivered at his tone. So unfeeling, so cold, could this hard-eyed man be her stepbrother?

Margaret raised astonished eyes to his face, murmuring jerkily, "That—that's all right, Jud. But you—you should have come home to eat."

His smile was a mere twist of the lips before his head lifted to turn from one then the other twin, standing on either side of her chair.

"Troy, Todd, still the same bookends, I see."

Their faces wore the same strained expressions, but both stretched out hands to grasp the one he had extended. He nodded to the lawyer, murmured "Mr. Slonne" before turning to Anne. She felt a small flutter in her chest as he walked to the chair next to hers.

"Anne."

His tone was low, but so coolly impersonal that Anne again felt a shiver go through her. Was it possible for a man to change so much in ten years? Apparently it was, for the proof of it was sitting next to her.

He had left home a charming, laughing, teasing young man and had walked through that door a few minutes ago with the lazy confidence of a proud, tawny lion. And tawny was the only way to describe him. The fair hair of ten years ago had darkened to  sun gold, and his skin was a burnished bronze. His features hadn't changed, of course, but had matured, sharpened. The broad forehead now held several creases as did the corners of his eyes. The long nose that had been perfectly straight now sported a bump, evidence of a break surgically corrected. The once firm jawline now looked as if it had been cut from granite. The well-shaped mouth now seemed to be permanently cast in a mocking slant. And the once laughing amber eyes arched over by sun-bleached brows now held the mysterious, wary glow of the jungle cat. Incredibly he seemed to have grown a few inches and gained about thirty pounds and he looked big and powerful and very, very dangerous.

With a feeling of real grief Anne felt a small light go out inside for the death of the laughing, teasing Jud Cammeron she'd known ten years before.

Mr. Slonne lifted the papers that had been lying on the desk and with a sharp movement Jud lifted his hand.

"If you'll be patient just a few more minutes, Mrs. Davis is bringing me something to drink." Then he turned to Margaret. "I hope you don't mind."

Her still lovely face flushed, Margaret whispered, "No-no, of course not."

At that moment the library door opened and the housekeeper, her face set in rigid lines of disapproval, entered the room carrying a tray bearing a coffeepot, cups, sugar bowl, and creamer. Mrs. Davis had been with the Cammerons only six years and she obviously looked on this new arrival as an interloper. Placing the tray, none too gently, on a small table beside Jud's chair, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room. Hearing him laugh softly, Anne thought in amazement;
 
He's enjoying her discomfort. No, he’s enjoying the discomfort of all of us.
 
And for the third time she felt a shiver run through her body.

Mr. Slonne waited patiently while Jud filled his cup and added cream. Then he began reading. The atmosphere in the room grew chill then cold as he read on. Anne, her hands gripping the arms of her chair, couldn't believe her ears. Her mother's face was white with shock. The twins wore like expressions of incredulity. Jud sat calmly sipping his coffee, his eyes cold and flat as a stone and his face a mask. When the lawyer's voice finally ground to a halt, the room was in absolute silence. After a few long, nerve-racking minutes Jud's unemotional voice broke the silence.

"Well, then, it seems, in effect, he's left it all to me."

"Precisely."

Mr. Slonne's clipped corroboration brought the rest of them out of their shocked trance,

"I—I don't understand," Margaret wailed.

Mr. Slonne hastened to reassure her. "There is no need for concern, Mrs. Cammeron, you've been well provided for. Indeed you've all been well provided for. It is just that Mr. Cammeron, young Mr. Cammeron, will have control of the purse strings, so to speak. In effect, he will be taking over where your husband left off."

"You mean I'll have to ask Jud for everything?" she cried.

Before Mr. Slonne could answer, Jud rapped, "Did you have to ask the old man for everything?"

Margaret winced at the term "old man," then answered wildly. "But you've been away for ten years. Not once have you written or called. It was as if you'd died. He never mentioned your name after you left this house. Why should he do this?"

Jud's eyes went slowly from face to face, reading the same question in all but Mr. Slonne's. Then with cool deliberation he said, "Maybe because the business that made him so wealthy was started mainly with Carmichael money. My mother's father's money. Maybe because he was afraid there was no one here who could handle it. And just maybe because he trusted me. Even after ten years."

He paused as if expecting a protest, and when there was none he continued. "Don't concern yourself, Margaret. You're to go on as you always have. I will question no expenditures except exceedingly large ones. This house is as much your home as it ever was. I have no intention of interfering with its running."

"You are going to live here?" Dismayed astonishment tinged Margaret's tone and one not-quite-white eyebrow arched sardonically.

"Of course, at least for the next few months. As you said, I've been away for a long time. I'll have to familiarize myself with the company, its management. Perhaps make a few changes."

Anne didn't like the ominous sound of his tone or the significance of his last words. Incautiously she snapped, "What changes?"

She realized her mistake as he turned slowly to face her. He didn't bother to answer her, he didn't have to. His eyebrows arched exceedingly high, the mocking slant of his hard mouth said it all loud and clear:
 
Who the hell are you to question me?
 
Anne felt her cheeks grow warm, heard him laugh softly when her eyes shied away from his intent amber stare.

"Now, then," the abrupt change in his tone startled Anne so much she actually flinched. "Mr. Slonne, thank you for your time and your assistance. You will be hearing from me soon." The lawyer was ushered politely, but firmly, out of the room. Margaret was next. In tones soothing but unyielding, Jud saw her to the door with the opinion that she should rest for at least an hour or so.

When Jud turned back to face her and her brothers, Anne felt her palms grow moist, her heart skip a beat. In no way did this man resemble the Jud she remembered. The Jud she had known ten years ago had had laughing eyes and a teasing voice. This man had neither. His eyes were alert and wary, and his voice, so far, was abrupt and sarcastic. This man was a stranger with a hard, dangerous look that spoke of ruthlessness.

"Now, you three," Jud said coolly. "I think we had better have a small conclave, set down the ground rules as it were."

Troy was the first one to speak. "What do you mean ground rules? And who the hell are you to lay down rules anyway?"

"I should think the answer to that would be obvious, even to you, Troy." Completely unruffled, Jud moved around the desk, lazily lowering himself into his father's chair.

"Sit down," he snapped. "This may take longer than I thought."

"I prefer to stand."

"So do I," Todd added.

The twins then began to speak almost simultaneously. Beginning to feel shaky with the premonition of what was coming, Anne was only too happy to sink into the chair she had so recently vacated. Jud pinned her there with a cold stare.

"I'll get to you shortly."

He turned the stare to the twins and his voice took on the bite of a January midnight. "I will tell you exactly who I am. As our father saw fit to leave me in control, from now on I'm the boss. And there are going to be a lot of changes made, starting with you two earning your keep."

"What do you mean?"

"In what way?"

He silenced them with a sharp, slicing move of his hand.

"From today on every free day you have, except Sundays, will be spent at the mill learning the textile business from the ground up, starting with the upcoming Easter vacation."

"But we have plans made to go to Lauderdale at Easter," Troy exclaimed angrily.

"Had
 
plans," Jud stated flatly. "There will be no romping on the sands for you two this year."

"We're over twenty-one," Todd sneered. "You can't make us do anything,"

"Can't I?"

Anne felt her mouth go dry at the silky soft tone. Her eyes shifted to the twins' faces as Jud continued.